cognoggin-influenced fashion I’d ever seen.
Made of velvet and silk, the fitted bodice and voluminous skirt were panels of rich chocolate brown alternating with a golden rust color. The sleeves were large and puffy near the shoulders, tapering into long fingerless gloves that ended in a point at her middle finger. From the elbow to wrist, brown and rust lace had been appliqued onto the fabric, and buttons, flowers, and little clockwork gears decorated the backs of the glove- sleeves.
Her brown corset was short and leather, and she wore it over the bodice in a new style that was just coming into fashion. But did she have another corset underneath? Four dangling watch chains and their matching clocks decorated one side of the corset and on the other were two slender pockets. And pinned to the front of her bodice was the most remarkable dragonfly pin, complete with rotating wings that made a soft, pleasant buzzing sound and little whirring gears that made up its body.
Not only was she dressed at the height of Street Fashion, but the gangly, long-nosed girl had done something with her hair that made her look even taller . . . but in a willowy way. And even her blade-like nose seemed balanced by the pile of chestnut-colored hair that had been braided, woven with ribbons, and decorated with clockwork gears in a neat but intricate coiffure.
Not that my own gown was anything to sniff at. At the height of accepted Victorian fashion, my frock consisted of a narrow skirt of frothier, lighter fabric than Miss Holmes’s, with many layers of ice-colored pink caught up by darker rosettes and gathered into a neat bustle at the lower part of my spine. But the most important aspect of the dress was its concealed split skirts. That was Pepper’s inspiration, and practical for someone of my vocation.
“Is something wrong, Miss Stoker?” Miss Holmes asked, patting her head as if to make certain her hair wasn’t about to fall.
We were sitting in the carriage, and Middy, the driver, was waiting for directions from me. “No,” I replied, noticing the set of keys dangling from the edge of Miss Holmes’s corset-vest. Surely they were for decoration rather than practical use, but nevertheless, even a traditionalist handmaker like me found them cunning. I blinked and stuck my head out the small window to give Middy the address and then settled back in my seat.
“Are you quite certain?” My companion glanced down at herself, smoothing her full skirts. Even in the drassy light, I could see a stiff, black lace crinoline peeping from beneath the rustling material and the hint of elegant copper-toed shoes. “Do you think my—I wasn’t certain what to wear.” She lifted her nose and managed to look down at me despite the fact that we were both seated.
Miss Mina Holmes was nervous. That was an eye-opening revelation and eased my . . . whatever it was that made me feel prickly and uncomfortable around her.
“Not at all,” I told her candidly. “Your gown is stunning. I’m certain the gentlemen will be most taken with you.”
“Well, that might be the case, but it’s neither here nor there. We have business afoot tonight.” Despite her brisk words, her fingers, which had been toying with a group of buttons on her glove-sleeve, relaxed in her lap.
“Yes, of course. You could bring me up to date on what you and Miss Adler discovered today.” I kept my voice neutral but felt compelled to add, “My apologies for not joining you at the museum. I was out late patrolling for UnDead and overslept this morning.” I didn’t mention the fact that neither of the ladies had contacted me about a time or place to meet, so Miss Holmes must have taken it upon herself to visit Miss Adler first thing in the morning.
“Oh,” she said, looking surprised. “It must be a rather difficult proposition, being out late and then being required to awaken shortly after dawn. I didn’t think the UnDead were quite a threat any longer.”
I gritted my teeth. No, they weren’t, but she didn’t need to remind me of it . . . and the fact that I’d failed the single time I’d faced one. “The reason they aren’t a threat is because of people like me who ensure that they aren’t.”
“Right.”
I quickly changed the subject. “I had a beast of a time of it, leaving tonight without my guardians. Did you have difficulty obtaining permission to attend the ball?”
“Permission?” Miss Holmes gave a short laugh. “My father rarely darkens the door of our house, and even if he does happen to find his bed for the night, he’d hardly notice whether I was present or not. Of course, it’s because he’s quite busy helping the government at the Home Office and spends long hours at his office or club.”
“And your mother didn’t object?” I’d had to lie and tell Florence I was attending a small musicale at the Tylingtons’. If she got wind that I was attending the Cosgrove-Pitt ball, the event of the season, nothing would have kept her home . . . which was why I’d hidden my invitation when it came two weeks ago.
“My mother is gone.”
The tone of Miss Holmes’s voice snapped my thoughts from dear, practical Florence. “Gone? Do you mean dead . . . or . . . ?” My voice trailed off.
“She left my father and me a year ago,” she said in a voice that tried too hard to sound nonchalant. “Obviously, she cares even less than he does what I do and where I go.” She shifted, her skirts rustling, and sat up ramrod straight. “Which is precisely why Miss Adler chose me to be part of this society, knowing I wouldn’t be hampered by such authority figures as parents.”
I couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to have any adults about, meddling in my daily life. The thought made me uncomfortable rather than envious.
Miss Holmes changed the subject, her voice brusque. “Miss Adler and I determined it was of importance for us to attend the party tonight at the Cosgrove-Pitts’ because of what we learned today at the Hodgeworth home. It was Miss Mayellen who was last night’s victim, and her sister and mother were gracious enough to allow us to search her bedchamber.”
“Did you find another beetle?”
“Aside from a scarab that was left on the floor next to her body, Miss Adler and I found this.” She produced a creamy notecard from some hidden pocket. “Observe.”
The engraved invitation to the party at Cosgrove Terrace this evening was familiar to me. I had the same one tucked in my small reticule. It was identical except for the faint mark in the bottom corner, hardly noticeable unless one were looking for something. “A beetle,” I said.
“Look more closely,” she said impatiently. “Do you not notice anything else of importance?”
“Perhaps if I had a bit of light,” I retorted, then snapped my jaw closed when she produced a little device that flared into some bright illumination. Blasted cognog. But even though I stared at the invitation, with its formal script and detail of the party, I could see nothing else out of the ordinary.
Lord Belmont & Lady Isabella Cosgrove-Pitt
extend a cordial invitation to
The King & Queen of the Roses Ball
Wednesday, the 15th of May, 1889
at eight o’clock in the evening
Beneath the Stars
Cosgrove Terrace
St. James Park
I read the words thrice, turned the card to the reverse, and found nothing remarkable but for the small beetle drawing. At last admitting defeat, I looked up at my companion.
“That is precisely the problem with most people,” she muttered. “Uncle Sherlock is right. People look, but do not observe. They examine, but they do not see. Behold,” she said, pointing her light at the invitation. “Beneath the
